The Aqua Project
by orpheus01
Summary: The initiation of the brutal, plant exploiting Aqua Project serves only to leech Knives’ remaining patience with mankind. His goal is annihilation. But at what price will Vash’s allegiance come? How many lives will it take? [Post anime, manga references.]
1. Take Care and Good Luck

Disclaimer: I own my feeble brain, my sketchy prose and life-giving hot chocolate, but, unfortunately, I do not own Trigun.

A/N: First things first. I know fans of _Sepia Photographs, Lavender Reverie_ are going to be cut with me for posting this instead of working on chapter twenty of that fic, but this had to be written. I even put aside my own personal fiction to write this. Let me explain... A long time ago in a brain far, far away from reality, there was a mix of fanfiction ideas floating around, the most prominent of which was SP, LR. It got posted, but progress gradually slowed. It has not, by any means, ceased, of course! I may be lazy, I may be cliche in my prose, but I am most certainly committed to the things I start.

However, among said fiction ideas was the one you see before you, right now only in its foetal stage of being written. Back then, SP, LR was much more formed than this fic, which was just a budding idea. As time went by, though, I began to contort and scrutinize the mechanics behind this fic. I started writing it... then stopped... then started. Only yesterday did the story form fully within my mind. I finished the first chapter. And this story, my friends, is extremely important to me. I can't really say way, but it is a story I feel I would like to share.

Right, that's enough of my woolly ramblings. Anyway, down to business. Narration will change from time to time, for each character will tell their side of the story. It will always be first person, mind.

Please review, and, most assuredly, please enjoy the fic! Thank you very much.

Today, your narrator is _Meryl_.

And without further ado, I give you...

**_The Aqua Project_**

* * *

'Courage is the price that life extracts for granting peace.' – Amelia Earhart

* * *

**_One: Take Care and Good Luck_**

"THE PIRATE STRIKES AGAIN!" trumpeted _Daily Bernardelli_ with ecstatic incredulity. I sipped at my coffee and shifted the newspaper into the center of my desk to examine the front page.

"_Seamus Hawkeye, widely known as _The Sand Pirate_, thwarts the December bank robbery._

_Four years counting, Hawkeye has been the mysterious scourge of Gunsmoke's outlaws. A grand total of five hundred criminals, known and unknown, have been put behind bars at Seamus' hands. Today, the citizens of December city are in a state of rejoice. The hero yesterday, single-handedly, put away the notorious Marilyn and Patricia Nebraska while on their attempt to empty the City's largest bank._"

From there on I skim-read. Pleased and relieved citizens were quoted as well as business owners and accountants, all making comments on how Seamus Hawkeye was a "godsend" and "saved my business." I felt an unpleasant squeeze in my throat, however, as I read towards the end of the article._ "…and citizens are eagerly anticipating the day this famous bounty hunter puts away the infamous Vash the Stampede._"

I sighed. A fairly lackluster article, as usual, I thought dejectedly, flipping over the pages and keeping squinted eyes to avoid any 'V's in bold print. All these articles on a single man. It's just monotonous. It's always the same thing, too. He saves a few people and then scarpers back off into the desert to his little hideout.

Doesn't anyone except me feel it's a little _suspicious_? Why not just stick around? I'll tell you why, it's obviously because he's a criminal himself. And he only got the name _The Sand Pirate _because he wears a stupid black patch over his right eye. He probably has perfectly good vision; he just wants to make an image for himself, to get attention. Well he's certainly drawn everyone's attention to him. Everyone, that is, except me. Nope. I'm not paying him the least bit of interest. Not in the slightest. He's just a wannabe Robin Hoo-- Oh _god_, I thought bleakly. My eyes had just glued themselves to an article on page five and read it while I was droning to myself.

"_Vash the Stampede…mass havoc…town besieged…terrorizing citizens…"_

Violent protest was about to spew from my eyes when I heard Karen's whiny voice from behind the newsprint.

"Meryyyl," she slurred, bored.

_Back to reality, now, Meryl_, I chastised myself. I promptly swallowed back my tears, shoved _Daily Bernardelli_ aside, snatched up a pen and inadvertently put my elbow in my mug of cold coffee.

"Hello, Karen," I said, smiling stiffly up at her, holding the pen to my cheek to appear busy. "Yes. What is it?" She gave a sigh.

"Meryl, the chief wants you. He's been calling you for the past ten minutes—" Her expression turned odd, a brow cocked.

"What?" I blurted. Karen pointed mutely to my slowly browning sleeve. I glanced down.

"Ahh!" I gasped, jumping up. With that, I sprinted away to the Ladies' washroom, the mug vacuumed to my elbow, Karen forgotten and left behind, a dumbstruck look on her cosmetic coated face.

I sighed to myself, flushing and embarrassed, as I awkwardly squeezed and rinsed the Java out of my sleeve, though subconsciously grateful to have escaped Karen. I'm really losing it these days, I think. I lathered some soap around my elbow. It's because, well, my life's changed so much over the past couple of years.

I think I could've been perfectly content if I had never taken _that_ field job—I would have just gone on a normal insurance agent, working nine to five in the main office. I could have easily been satisfied with my job. I could have turned down fieldwork. But I didn't.

See, I was young back then. And, now that I look back, I guess I just wasn't ready to settle down permanently into this job. I was sensible, of course, and responsible, but still young. So I took the job, quite unaware that a small part of me wanted a little adventure before I acquiesced the subtle, boring routine of the daily office life.

And now I'm back. It was nearly two years that I—sorry—Milly and I spent with Vash the Stampede. There was that reprieve after the fifth moon incident and, though I was just _a little_ unhappy about the circumstances on which we had to return, I think I could have called it quits then. I'd had my fling and, yes, though I suppose I'll admit that I wouldn't have minded seeing him again, I was ready to snuggle down into interminable paperwork again.

But it wasn't meant to be. There are two words that I'll never forget—Little Jersey. That's where we picked up Vash's neon trail again. It was as though I had finally recollected the sands of my office life and put them back in their ornamental bottle when, BAM, that clumsy oaf knocked me clean off of my office chair. And I'm not too reluctant to admit that I didn't really mind, for, although I used to find Vash's clumsiness excruciatingly annoying, I kind of think it amuses me now. That is to say, it used to.

Like I said, I'm back now, washing the coffee out of my sleeve, for goodness' sake—because I am most definitely losing it. I've lost my marbles. Or should I say my sand? It slipped through my fingers like, well, like sand, I guess. The fact is that I'm constantly unsettled. Especially after _it _happened. And I've been shaken up so much over the course of the past three years, that I hardly know the meaning of the word 'home' anymore.

I was jumpy when I first returned three weeks ago. And that was to be expected since I'd spent so much time away from my secure and perfectly _stationary_ desk. I told myself, and my fellows, that I'd get better after a few days. Milly knew better.

"Everything has just been so hectic!" I had exclaimed with a laugh to Gwen at reception, a few days after I got back, after she had commented on how haggard, as she put it, I looked. "It's hard for me to get back to a daily routine. You never know what's coming your way when you're with Vash the Stampede," I laughed. Gwen gave me a concerned look then her lips curled into a warmish smile.

"I understand, Meryl," she said. "You just take care of yourself."

"Oh, I will," I chirped. "I'll be fine anyway. I'll be absolutely fine in a few days!" But I wasn't. Sure, I gave off a perfectly confident _exterior_ in a few days, but on the inside I was in turmoil. I still am. No one could forget the things I've seen.

But that doesn't mean I miss being on the road. Or miss the danger that's so excusably part of fieldwork. And I don't miss Vash.

"Don't look at me like that!" I burst at the sink mirror frowning at me. My reflection paused, shook her head and mouthed 'loosing it badly', flushing.

Okay, so maybe I do miss Vash, but only because I'm so used to having him around. It was just a touch of a shock to have to leave him so suddenly. I worry about him. Plus, the way he acted after he returned with—with Knives, it kind of upset me. Now don't get me wrong, he wasn't offensive or nasty or anything like that. He was just—I don't know how to explain it.

I thought I could predict him. After all, he swings moods around with the unpredictability of a chameleon. You just expect something that is unpredictable to be that way. I was completely unprepared for _that _conversation, though. Vash demonstrated a level of solemnity that I'd never known to be a part of his persona. It was frightening, to say the least.

"Meryl," he had said gently, but guardedly, one night some time ago. A small shiver convulsed my frame. I had trouble hiding it. It always feels so strange when Vash calls me by my first name. It's as though my feet just vanish below my legs and I get the sickly feel of falling over. And the fact is that I can hide this almost as well as Vash can hide the seriousness in his voice when he does call me by my given name.

But he wasn't trying to that night, and it scared me.

"Yes?" I replied, taking a seat at the table opposite him, a teacup clasped in my hand.

"Well…" he began. He held his breath, and I waited patiently. "I think we need to talk." Obviously.

"Okay," I agreed, light-toned, and hiding my curiosity. I knew something was coming, and was desperately trying to prolong the moment before the cards had to hit the table. "Shoot," I said.

Vash deliberated, his eyes wavering to and fro, unfocused, yet agonizingly intent. Subconsciously, I knew he was hurting himself. He made a noise akin to a strangled sigh and scrunched his tousled fringe up in his fingers.

"Vash, what is it?" I asked, more than concerned.

"Meryl," he said again, his voice catching distinctly, "I know you're going to disagree with me, but I really think—" He had to pause and suck in a breath of air. Clearly he was battling with himself. A pregnant silence fell on the room. When Vash finally looked up, his emerald eyes were pained and glazed, but set. He had made his decision, I knew.

"It's time for you to go back to Bernardelli now," he said simply, deadpan. "For good," he added. I almost choked. Vash looked like he could have done the same.

"W-why?" I managed. His expression turned grave.

"Because it's just…" he faltered, vigilant. "You don't know how dangerous my brother is." He looked away just as I forced a glare on him.

"I've said it before," I enunciated tightly. "Danger is part of the job." With that I sipped self-righteously at my tea.

"You don't _understand_," he sighed. I felt indignant. "It's not just gunfire anymore."

"It was never _just_ gunfire," I pointed out, a cool edge on my voice.

"But this is serious!" Vash pleaded. He gazed at me, his lip bit, his face reddening. The skin below his eyes tautened, as if to hold back the rising moisture in them. I felt a spasm of pain in my chest, seeing him like this, that I was partly responsible.

"Knives is too dangerous for you to handle," Vash said finally, his voice low. I thought about my responses. What could I say to him? How could I force him to let me stay without upsetting or angering him? Could I convince him that I could look out for my own?

"Vash," I said, "it's not Knives who I am assigned to."

"But he's my brother," Vash groaned. "He could…" He looked at me, his face written with uttermost suffering. "He could kill you." I felt the urge then to scoot over to him, to stroke and hold his hand in mine and console him.

"Half the people I've come across on this job could kill me," I replied, taking another drink of my tea to distract myself.

"But Knives is more dangerous than all of them combined, and tenfold over that!" The moisture in Vash's eyes fell just the tiniest bit. I forced my gaze away. "Meryl, it's just…" He heaved a shaky sigh and shook his head. "It really is too dangerous now. And there will be a time when I can't protect you or Milly," he added. This sparked a bizarre flame of anger and excitement in me. The anger quickly won out, however.

"Protect me?" I echoed. "Is that what you think you have to do?" I demanded. Vash opened his mouth but I interjected before he could speak. "Vash, don't think it's your duty to do anything like that," I rebuked, my voice fast and heated. "I can take care of myself! You don't owe me anything, and as far as I'm concerned, you're just paperwork." At the look on his face, I knew I hadn't just hurt myself by mistakenly saying that.

"Meryl—!" At that, an audible whimper, originating from upstairs, met both our ears. Vash and I exchanged a glance of mutual melancholy. We both knew Milly was grieving.

"No, Vash," I whispered after a long hiatus, "We're not leaving. This is my job. Besides," I added. "I think Milly would be better off here with the both of us." Vash exhaled a sigh, replacing his forehead back in his hands.

"Don't you agree?" I asked softly. I couldn't just stay, just disobey him. I wanted to stay, but I needed his confirmation. I needed him to want me to stay. I think he did, because he nodded.

"I suppose so," he consented. He raised his gaze to me then, a stern, evocative look in his watery eyes. "But promise me something, Meryl."

"I will," I said quickly. I immediately regretted obligating myself.

"If…" Vash hesitated, carefully choosing his words. "If anything happens, _anything_, I want you to take Milly and leave and not come back." I fell silent and considered this.

"Meryl?" Vash posed when I still hadn't said anything. I looked at him.

"Okay, Vash," I said. "I promise." It hurt me, but I was prepared to honour my word and respect my friend. Vash was, after all, only trying to protect me. I felt my lips curl into a tiny smile at that notion.

"Vash?" I whispered. He gazed at me. "Thank you." He looked puzzled.

"For what?" he asked.

"For…caring," I clarified. There was a moment of silence. We both of us flushed bright pink, and then smiled at one another. In that moment, I would never have believed that I would actually have to leave him. Being lulled into security and a sense of stability around him made having to leave the following day all the more shocking.

Milly and I had been walking home, in the later hours of the afternoon, from a small bout of grocery shopping, chatting, but not animatedly. I was worried for my friend, on that day, more than I was about anything else, perhaps subconsciously considering the possibility that it might not have been best for her and I to stay with Vash, as much as that cut me inside. Milly cried at night—so did I, sometimes—mourning Nicholas, no doubt, and all that had proceeded his death. It made me angry and sad that so many unjust things had happened to us since then. Milly was especially undeserving of such hurt. And Vash… I feel a sharp and stanch pain whenever I deem of imagining the tortures that man has known. There were so many things I wanted to right. I could see just too much injustice.

"Meryl?" Milly's quiet soprano voice had woken me from my reverie.

"Huh? Oh, I'm sorry, Milly!" I mumbled.

"Is something wrong, Meryl?" she asked anxiously as we approached the house.

"No," I said, adhering a reassuring smile to my face. There was no need in the world to burden her with more troubles, let alone my own. She, as well, had obviously only asked for my benefit, as she didn't further the subject. It wasn't an upset for me to know that Milly didn't really want me to share my thoughts with her. She was concerned, but I would have only greatened her wealth of problems.

"I'm fine," I said as I reached for the front door knob, and it wasn't entirely a lie.

I stopped short of the door, perceiving a frantic scuffling beyond. A foreign voice grunted and Vash yelped from within. Milly and I froze, our pulses deadening. In sequence, we heard a hard whack, followed by a thud and something dripping heavily.

"Meryl!" Milly squeaked involuntarily. She quickly covered the sound, placing her hand over her mouth and dropping her full shopping bags in the process. I flinched at the noise. I grabbed Milly's arm. She was shaking feverishly. Erratic footsteps could be heard from within the house. They grew louder, closer. Milly shot back. I tripped.

The door burst open abruptly. I gasped, Milly screamed, and Vash stepped over the threshold, alert, his eyes ablaze. Before I had even felt precious relief, I noticed the blood. Vash's shirt was spattered crimson. There were small, but yawning cuts on his arm and chest. He jerked forward and I felt several tiny droplets splash across my face. I _smelt_ it—the bittersweet, coppery scent drove bile up towards my throat. I desperately swallowed back, scooting away.

"Vash!" I coughed. "What happen—"

"Go," he breathed. I stared, my jaw slackening. _What?_

"But," I protested feebly, my voice caught in my throat.

"Go!" Vash repeated forcefully. "Both of you!" I hardly noticed as his blood snaked its way down my cheek, drying and caking as it went.

"Vash, you need help!" I exclaimed, finally mastering some volume.

"NO!" he shouted. I cringed and shied away. He looked resolutely into my eyes. "Get out of here, now!"

"Mister Vash!" Milly squeaked, her voice small and quivering. Vash turned to her, his face contrite, painfully sincere, and then back to me.

"Go, Meryl," he pleaded. "While you still can!" A hand flew up to the dribbling wound on his shoulder. He grimaced, suppressing a moan.

"Vash?" I murmured. We exchanged glances, and I knew everything. Vash wanted us to stay, but knew even better than Milly and I—we, who were watching, motionless, as he bled—the dangers of remaining. Knives was conscious, there was no doubt about it.

"It's serious," Vash said, in an undertone that only I could hear. It was clearer to me than water. I had to fulfill my promise. Vash was sacrificing himself for Milly and I, and I couldn't in good conscience let him be vain.

"Milly, get in the car," I said flatly.

"But—"

"Do it now!" I commanded, severe. Milly made a tiny sob. She obeyed. I turned back to Vash.

"Take care," he said urgently, frowning with the pain.

"I'll do my best."

"And take care of her," he added.

"I will," I assured him. I looked him in the eye questioningly.

"I'll be okay," he muttered. His lack of conviction made me unsure. I wanted to believe him.

I had no time now. I made to leave, my eyes stinging, but felt Vash's grip on my sleeve. If only my vision hadn't blurred so much behind my unshed tears, I could have held his profound gaze one last time.

"Meryl," he whispered, "thank you, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"…Good luck," I croaked. And then he was gone, me driving steadily away from that tiny desert town, harshly reining back my sobs only for Milly's sake…

I idly toweled the elbow of my blouse now, trying hard not to relive any of the past six months in my mind, and finding myself pondering the present. The skin around my eyes contracted, throbbing. I quickly put my hands over my face, digging the heels of my palms in below my cheekbones. Even here, in safe, sunny Bernardelli, he was inescapable. No matter what tense I contemplated—past, present, future—he was there, a constant ghost in my thoughts. Vash never left my mind, and the prospect of him here was even worse than when I had been with him. I couldn't now even know he was alive.

My eyes brimmed over then, and Karen burst into the washroom, the epitome of inopportunity.

"Meryl!" she bellowed. Then came the long haul. "What the hell is going on? You've been in here for nearly an hour! The chief wanted you ages ago! And now he's gone home. He's very disappointed in you, Meryl, very angry indeed! So he wants you to start on your new assignment immediately—"

My ears pricked up. _New assignment? _But when I thought about it, it didn't really spark any positive feelings in me.

"—doesn't want to see you until you're done! Got that, Meryl?" With that, she pitched a manila folder at me. I failed to catch it in time, and the contents splayed out over the washroom tiles.

"Get to work!" Karen growled as she left. The lecture hadn't fazed me. I was just glad she hadn't noticed me crying.

I knelt down, wiping away the last of the wayward tears, and gathered up the stray leafs. My mind snapped back into proper working action, suddenly. Manila meant only one thing: fieldwork. My heart jumped a beat. I was Bernardelli's most experienced field operative. The insurance society wasn't ready yet to give up on him, I was sure. They wouldn't send anyone else but me!

I scanned the sheets frantically. _Itinerary…provisions…expenses… Come on, where is the objective sheet! _

I found it, and my stomach plummeted an ile, my hopes cruelly, vindictively crushed into the ground. '_Target,_' I read, '_Seamus Hawkeye_.'

I heaved a colossal sigh.

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Thank you for reading. Review time, now! -nudges review button toward reader- 


	2. Forever Her Coffin

Disclaimer: I own my feeble brain, my sketchy prose and life-giving hot chocolate, but, unfortunately, I do not own Trigun.

A/N: Phew! Finally got the second chapter done. I didn't expect the update to take that long, but here it is... Brand spankin' new chapter two! And now the formalities. There are two things I tried to achieve with this chapter:

A) Quality. Something I'll be striving to create through the duration of this fic. Thus, I won't update every single day like I've seen some authors do (My god, how do they do that?!), but at least there'll be some substance to each chapter. I will try to update as often as I can, though.  
B) Good character portrayal. I'm really trying my hardest to stay true to the characters, so it'd be helpful when you review to let me know how I'm doing. Thanks. :)

And now, onto the story... Your narrator for this chapter is _Vash_!

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'Courage is the price that life extracts for granting peace.' – Amelia Earhart

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_**Two: Forever Her Coffin**_

I _needed_ to cover my eyes. Somehow I couldn't find my hands. I tensed to shut my eyelids tight, but the effort was in vain. I tried turning, looking away. The scene followed me, exactly the same on every angle. _Oh, why weren't my hands there?_ Where was my body, even? My feet, my arms, my entire body—gone. Only my sight remained, and I didn't even want that. Even darkness, consuming blackness, was a better alternative to the scene that faced me, steadfast and awful, now.

Fresh and bleeding, and decaying corpses surrounded me, their sickly sweet, heavy stench assaulting my nostrils. _Oh god. _I felt my eyes watering, the saliva in my mouth turning to thin vinegary acid. All senses were alert, breathing the scene and repulsed by it, forcing me into retreat. Yet, there was no escape. The dead, the bodies of innocents, were everywhere, holding me. _Caging _me.

I would have treaded blood if only to have been free of the sight. I groaned in protest. Something (A slap?) stung me suddenly where the left of my face should have been. I felt a tight sensation around my ankle. I looked down and felt horror like I'd never known it.

Grasping my ankle with a clammy, bloodstained hand was a man—half a man. His body was cut in two, cleanly sliced at the waist. At the trail of thick blood left behind him, I almost heaved. _Blind me, please! I can't look anymore!_

"You…" rasped the dieing man before me, his voice inhibited by the blood in his throat. _Oh god oh god oh god. _I shivered, imaginary muscles contracting rigidly, in disgust. Still, I couldn't look away.

"You…did this," he gurgled out, the thick scarlet liquid oozing down the side of his mouth.

"No," I gasped. My voice held no volume.

"You…" He spluttered, coughing, spitting blood at me.

"No, please!" _Let me go! Blind me!_

My throat grew parched. My head ached. Before I had even tried to scream, I was jolted to the side. I heard a deafening crack, and realized with a sickening spasm of panic that a rib of mine had somehow broken. At last the scene blurred, the mass of corpses all liquefying into one heavy red blotch. I sighed in phenomenal relief.

"Shut up!"

I was floating now, in weightless dark, only a dull pain stemming from my chest. I heard myself moan.

"Shut up, shut _up_, will you!" His voice pulled me roughly out of the void. "Perhaps I should have left you rotting!" he growled, irate, above me.

"Nngh…" I blinked sluggishly, my eyes only yet perceiving a hazy silhouette against a blue sky.

"Stop it!" he yelled. _My brother…_

"Knives?" I managed. His pale, livid face emerged from the glare of the sun.

"Who else? Now will you be quiet!" I felt sudden pressure on my chest, instigating a first real wave of pain.

"AHH!" I cried out, earning me another vicious kick in the ribcage. A chorus of breaking bones sung out. "GHNN!"

"Stop it, I said!" Knives snarled, teeth bare. "How am I to concentrate when you keep making those incessant noises?" I grimaced and gritted my teeth against the pain, trying to put it from my mind before I warranted a third kick. Knives loomed over me, his fury almost tangible. I rolled sideways to catch my breath, gingerly folding my arms over my chest.

And then it suddenly dawned on me that everything was out of place. I turned my gaze back on my brother. His glacier eyes glared down at me in earnest. Hadn't I been in his place just a moment ago? I became conscious again of the cuts on my arm and shoulder. I hastily glanced down at them, anxious.

If I had been unconscious, how much blood had I lost? Upon inspection, the cuts were still open, moist, but not bleeding. I felt sick looking at my own flesh.

"You'll live," Knives mordantly grumbled.

"Where…" I paused, waiting for permission of speech. Knives simply looked at me in disgust. I glanced furtively down at his foot. It remained firmly planted. "Where are we?" I asked quietly.

"I'm looking for something," he muttered, and walked away. I sat up with difficulty, rubbing sand out of my eyes, and bit my lip against the heart-attack-like pain in my chest. I gazed around, squinting. Desert met me on all sides, endless tracts of yellow sand. The sight of it suddenly turned ominous.

_How long have I been out?_ I wondered, my anxiety swelling.

"Since yesterday evening," Knives clarified for me. His presence in my thoughts caught me off guard. I caged my thoughts in, trying to mask my mind from him.

Still, if I had been out cold for that long, what had happened in that time lost? I replayed back through my memories of the previous day, finding that almost nothing had registered. Even the clearer images were obscure. I just barely remembered Knives, awake, his eyes intent and afire. That image sent a shiver snaking down my spine. Judging by my wounds, I gathered that was a reunion that hadn't stomached too well.

What of Milly and Meryl? A flurry of images cascaded into my mind. I saw Milly's pale face, saw her retreat in fear of me. Meryl's lavender eyes clouded with tears, glistening.

"Good luck," she had said, her voice written with emotions unreadable to me. It occurred to me in harsh reality that my last vision of her might have been just that—a poignant goodbye, uttered on borrowed time. That prospect upset me, the sudden impact of it stinging my eyes.

My instant of grief mentally alerted Knives. He turned, scrutinizing me, and I hastily blinked back my budding tears. Knives stood, motionless for several moments until his face became amused.

"Well, this looks familiar," he chuckled, seemingly enjoying a spell of nostalgia. I said nothing, my concentration fully on keeping my thoughts private.

"You cry over a different woman, now, however." Knives' tone turned scathing. "Of course, they really are no different." I looked away, distracting myself. He's just trying to provoke me, I told myself. My brother sauntered calmly toward me.

"Both of them still remain weak, fallible creatures, their behaviour utterly inconceivable," he spat, standing over me, the embodiment of my fear. He knelt in front of me, putting a strong hand below my chin and forcing gazes to meet. I felt my shoulders shaking a little.

Knives' expression was hard to decipher.

"It could possibly be said," he began, pausing in deep contemplation, "that you act the same." A smile curled up the sides of his mouth. I stared, confused, unsure of what to make of his words.

"What do you think of that?" He waited. I remained silent, shaking, not daring a response.

"I think you will agree," Knives continued. "After all, it was you who shot me, attempted to eradicate me, attempted the same a second time and then—and I can't for the life of me understand why—you healed me." An irritated confusion won his expression and he shook his head despondently. "I just don't know what to charge it up to—an act of charity on your part, an inability to make up your mind, or the likely possibility that you are simply as fickle as they."

"None of those," I mumbled irritably before I could stop myself. Knives scowled at me pointedly for interrupting his musings. And then his face melted. He laughed.

"Hah! You don't even know why you act the way you do!" he barked. "You're too predictable!" He laughed on. I ignored him, knowing any aggravation on my part might endanger my already slim chance of survival in this remote stretch of desert, let alone in Knives' presence. There was no sense in attempting to restrain him, after all, unless he planned on committing something. _Or…had he already?_

"I guess," said Knives, jerking me from my thoughts, "the thing to say is…" A wicked grin contorted about his maw. "Thank you." The look in his clear, enthused eyes made me totally certain. _Yes, _my mind concluded gravely, _he had._

"Knives?" I said, my voice low, severe. He looked at me, curious. "What have you done?" He laughed loudly.

"Now, Vash," he sneered, "tell me, what were you just dreaming about?"

My body froze, broken bones and open wounds forgotten. The dream, no, the nightmare, and the images from it, freshly seared onto my brain, flashed anew in my head. Now they took on new meaning. The blood. The dead. The…people.

"You," I choked out after moments of silence, barely any level to my voice, "killed all those people." It wasn't a question. Knives looked at me unsympathetically and straight-faced. He said nothing.

"You killed them all." My words held no fury, no grief, just disillusionment. "Every last person."

"Is that so new to you, Vash?" Knives said with mock incredulity. The shock dissipated instantly, anger replacing it with a vengeance. I locked gaze with my brother, my eyes assaulting his, burning. I didn't glare, or bare my teeth, or scowl, but he knew the anger, the torment I now felt.

Knives stared, hesitant. A pregnant silence ensued. At length he shot back a defiant glare, rejecting my feelings.

"That was my home, Knives," I enunciated, unnervingly calm.

"Then you have only yourself to blame," Knives hissed.

"No!" I shouted, abrupt. "I won't accept guilt from you! _You _killed them!" My broken bones twinged and throbbed with the effort of heaving the bellowed words past my mouth, but I barely noticed them. "They never did anything to harm you," I growled quietly, my breath coming in rapid huffs. Knives finally looked away, unshaken, but, at the same time, uncomfortable. Again, there was silence, long and weighty and irksome.

"Not… to _me_," Knives mumbled, almost mutely. Taken aback, I scrutinized him, puzzled.

"What, then?" I demanded. He remained silent, staying his cold gaze, as if even refusing to acknowledge me. I scowled, ousting tiny growls from the back of my throat. Something clicked—a nauseating shock.

"What about Meryl?" I struggled to utter her name, forcing back the gasp belying my fear. "And Milly?"

"Those two women?" Knives grumbled, glancing disinterestedly up at the sky. "What about them?" I glared at him, insulted by his ruse. At last, he looked at me, bored.

"I don't know, Vash," he sighed. "I'm surprised that you assume I make note of each human I eliminate." My anger looked towards panic again.

"What happened to them?" I gritted out. I bit my lip, forcing myself to stay calm. Knives frowned in annoyance.

"I told you," he spat, "I don't know. Do you gaze profoundly into the face of an animal before you consume it?"

"Think, Knives!" I yelled, again hurting my ribs with the force of my voice. My brother was quick to answer back with a snarl. His expression, however, surprisingly, lapsed into one of thought. His eyes narrowed, flashing back and forth, occasionally scowling at me.

"There was a jeep," he eventually conceded, "in the distance." I breathed deep with relief; I was pretty sure that Meryl owned the only jeep in town.

"I didn't see who was driving, however!" Knives quickly added, sensing my hope and obviously desperate to snatch it away. "It could have been anyone," he pointed out. I remained unfazed… almost. But I held firmly onto the prospect that Meryl and Milly were still alive.

Knives rose and brushed the sand off his outfit. He padded away, apparently not interested in conversing anymore. I stared after his back. The image of the bloodied town, the town I had once been able to call my home, safe near my friends, slowly crept back into my mind. It was July and Augusta and LR all over again. It stabbed at me that, and I couldn't deny, I had let it happen.

I vowed then that I would never let my two best friends, my last pieces of that home, fall victim to my brother. I would keep them from him with any means necessary, even if that meant never seeing them again. That possibility upset me even more than the memories of the fallen cities. For the third—or possibly thirtieth—time, I felt my eyes welling up.

Knives slowed in his tracks, again sensing the change in my emotions and surface thoughts. With practiced ease, I bottled the feelings away. Knives glanced surreptitiously over his shoulder at me, skeptical. I stared back nonchalantly as if I hadn't shed tears.

"Shall we?" he posed in a grousing tone. "I haven't all day."

After considering my options, limited as they were, and all of them eventually leading to my demise, I concluded there was no sense in separating from my brother. I could lose myself in the open desert, alone. With Knives, at least I would have some degree of safety. Having brought me all the way out here with him, it was clear that he had certain plans that involved me alive. I balked at what else they might entail, but shut that thought away before it lingered.

I stood carefully, nursing my ribcage, and followed after my brother. Knives smiled at me with hidden intent. I thought grimly, '_My number must be up._'

-

Knives' search took us both deeper and dangerously deeper into the desert than I ever would have dared on my own. I couldn't have known how far we had come—the desert interminably remained the same on all angles—but judging by the fatigue creeping up ever faster on me, we were well on our way to circumnavigating the planet.

It felt like that, anyway. I didn't dare complain, though, for fear of being dealt another few broken ribs, or worse.

Knives was relentless, his expression never wavering from that of deep thought. He seemed confident about where we were headed, at least. My only worry was how long I could hold out.

I was wilting beneath the brutal twin suns, injured and tired, but trekked on without reprieve, always lagging several yarz behind my brother. After hours of this torture, I realized I was glaring at Knives' back. Luckily, he never glanced back at me.

We continued on into the night, by which time I was too exhausted to care what Knives might do to me if I stopped. I collapsed freely into the cooling sand without word, panting weakly to catch my breath, welcoming unconsciousness.

The next thing I knew, Knives was rocking me roughly awake. I squinted blearily around. The stretching, shifting sands were still dark, shaded, but the horizon glowed a pale peach. Apparently Knives had granted me the night to rest, but I still felt awful—exhausted. I must have slept on my injured side, as well, for it ached. I groaned before I could help it, and then cringed against the imminent kick. It never came, however.

"The sooner you move, the sooner you can stop," Knives hissed in my ear. I made a silent sigh to myself and propped myself up, brushing messy hair out of my face.

"Where are we even going?" I griped, reluctant to start traipsing aimlessly through the desert again. Knives eyes lingered on me for a moment, slightly distasteful.

"Home," was all he said. "Now get up." And he strode away. This time I did sigh aloud, getting drowsily to my feet. I hung my head—I didn't want to look at my brother—for the iles of marching to come and trudged forward.

We had only gone two, maybe three, iles when it happened. Less than vigilant, I bumped into my brother. I stumbled backwards, caught off my guard. Apparently Knives had stopped dead in his tracks.

"Knives, what—" I paused. His rigid form began to shake. Grasping his shoulders, I turned him to face me. I gasped. Never had I seen Knives like this. His expression was beyond my powers of description. He stared, his eyes disturbingly wide, not at me but through me and into the distance, at nothing. His mouth fell open, bottom lip trembling. And then, in an instant, his eyes snapped shut and he clenched his jaw. He grabbed at my wrists, locking them tight in his iron grip.

"Ah, Knives, you're hurting!" I yipped. "What's _wrong_ with you?" Knives cringed, shuddering.

"S-something's… ghnn… happening," he uttered shakily, a throaty whimper. A bone-chilling, guttural snarl escaped his quavering lips and he crumpled, bringing me down with him.

"Knives, let go!" I begged. "Tell me what's wrong!" Knives answered my pleas with a suppressed groan. He ground his teeth, panting heavily behind them, his hands constricting even tighter around my wrists.

"Ahh! Knives!" I yelled, panicked and bewildered by what was transpiring. His growls suddenly turned to unbridled screams, primal and pained. I desperately tried to shy away, but his grasp held me firmly to the spot, forcing me to endure whatever was happening to him. I clamped my eyes shut, blocking out what I could in the confusion. Abruptly, I felt Knives' burning, writhing hand seize my face.

And I knew then what he did. It passed quickly, but agonizingly, too fast for me to properly dissect. As soon as Knives linked through his fevered touch, I felt it. A power without origin sapping at my energy, my life, draining out my very being. It forced out every part of me, and every piece screamed in anguish as it went. My shoulders, elbows, ankles, my blood—all burned as they seeped away to a place I couldn't smell or touch, leaving only a momentary coldness in their wake. One last torture, the agony of lungs sans air, and then I plummeted, landing gracelessly in a curdled, withered heap in my cage, forever my coffin.

The azure desert sky came slowly back into view a moment later, along with the unpleasant throbbing sensation in my chest. Knives other hand was still clasped, but only lightly, around my wrist, which I was sure was bruised under the brunt of his convulsive grasp.

"Vash," I heard him choke out faintly from somewhere to my right.

"Mmm," I managed to wheeze out.

"Are you hurt?" I considered the question for a few moments.

"I died," I said at length, candid.

"No." Knives hefted himself gradually up, and then proceeded to help me. "No," he said again as he eased me floppily into his arms. "They've started."

"I don't understand," I mumbled softly. My eyelids began to droop.

"You felt," Knives paused. His tone was furious, but held a strange underlying reverence. It didn't bode well at all. "We felt our sister. _She_ died."

* * *

Oooh, spooky. ;D So how'd I do? Let me know! 

Reviews, please!

Thank you to the people who reviewed last time, by the way. Much appreciated. -bows in thanks-


	3. Sleep Outside

Disclaimer: I own my feeble brain, my sketchy prose and life-giving hot chocolate, but, unfortunately, I do not own Trigun.

A/N: Oh my god. Oh. My. God. -waits to be stoned- How could it take me nearly a whole year to update? I didn't know where the time went! I'm worse than Meryl. ;;

Ehehe... I wonder if anybody on this site remembers this fic. Or even me. n.n -waves and reintroduces self- Hey, guys, I'm Orpheus and I lurk so hard like you don't even know. I don't mean to. .. It just happens.. Anyway, I won't delay you the story any longer! I'm sure there were a couple of people waiting for this..

Today, your narrator is _Meryl_.

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'Courage is the price that life extracts for granting peace.' – Amelia Earhart

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**_Three: Sleep Outside _**

I was thoroughly unmotivated toward my new assignment. It was the first time in my life that I had entertained any form of apathy. I just wasn't anticipating meeting a guy who had made himself the image of a hero. I've had enough of heroes.

I frowned as I browsed over the task folder one last time and packed up mission necessities into my duffel bag. I could have laughed, had I not been so emotionally preoccupied. The assignment was undeniably the most trivial job the insurance society had ever thrown at me. The objective leaf was completely laughable. In a whole page's worth of words, insurance jargon, all it basically ordered was that Milly and I locate Seamus Hawkeye and—I scoff—_congratulate_ him (and, in small print, sell him insurance).

It wasn't as if I had much of a say in the matter. Especially since I was at the risk of loosing my job if I didn't accept this assignment. However, indifference not restraining, I definitely could have raised an issue of ethics concerning it. After all, congratulating a potential criminal-in-disguise doesn't exactly seem like something an insurance company is wont to do.

I suppose all it means is that the Bernardelli Insurance Society has been taken in by what gets fed out through the newspapers and tabloids. At least I was still sane…to a degree. I suddenly remembered my little coffee incident of the day before and flushed in self-embarrassment. I sighed.

Why am I so out of it, sometimes?

I heard a rap at the door, then.

"Meryl, may I come in?" The door muffled her voice, but there was distinct cheeriness in Milly's voice that I couldn't miss. I quickly checked my reflection for telltale grey marks or fatigue-lines, what would have been results of last night's complete lack of sleep. There was only a slight pallor, I noticed with relief—no bulging purple streaks or blemishes. No signs that I had been crying, either. For that, I was particularly thankful.

"Come in, Milly," I said, keeping my voice light. She entered my room, looking fresh and upbeat. I smiled and hoped she wouldn't notice the effort behind the expression.

"Good morning," she grinned.

"Good morning, Milly. Are you ready?" I asked. She nodded, seemingly as excited as I wasn't.

"Yep. I came to see if you were, too. If we hurry we can catch the next bus out!" She seemed eager to get going, at least. Someone had to be, I thought cynically. I was happy for her, though. Work was probably the best—and only—escape Milly had now. Lord knew, she needed one.

_I need one, too_, I mused. _Maybe more than her. _My own selfishness stung me. I put those thoughts roughly away.

"Just a couple more things, Milly," I said.

She generously helped me pack. It turned out that in my moments of out-of-itness that I'd barely even noticed, of which there were plenty, I'd forgotten more than a couple of things. I turned away and blushed when Milly pointed out a lack of spare underwear in my travel bag. Geez, I needed some focus these days. I used to be so efficient, so thoughtful.

Of course…I _used_ to be a lot of things.

"Shall we go, then?" Milly asked when were done. I hesitated, and then nodded. I wasn't keen, but I was ready. All I could think of to justify the situation was, _I have to do my job_. It was the usual excuse, and, after probably three years of use, I felt it wearing thin. I wondered idly how much longer it would motivate me.

"Let's go," I said in a muted, reverent tone. Milly hefted my bag up onto her back, smiling, and made down the stairs. I went to follow, paused and turned back. My eyes wavered over my tiny apartment. Meagre as it was, only big enough for one person and barely that, it was the only home I had ever known since I had returned. Even so, it only pained me slightly to leave it so. I farewelled it one last look, and then shut the door. Locking up, I was wondering when I'd next see this place. Hopefully soon, but knowing how these wild-goose-chase assignments usually turned out, I gathered it would feel like years.

The sky outside was a clear, cloudless azure. The city swam in sunlight, though the twin suns were gentle today. The air was crisp and pleasant. It was the most beautiful day I had witnessed for months—the kind that _makes you want to forget all your problems_, as Milly had once put it. She was right. Unfortunately I found myself begrudging it, for it would be wasted as I traveled today. Why was it that good things always had to happen at exactly the wrong time? I guessed that was precisely my luck—sour.

Milly had already loaded our luggage onto the waiting bus, so I had no time to stand and savour the day. I felt my heart drop a few more notches as I stepped up onto the bus. The pot-bellied driver gave me a dubious look.

"Where you headed?" he asked gruffly. I thought for a moment, calculating the rumours I'd made sure to investigate, speculating the whereabouts of the so-called Sand Pirate, and then decided which direction seemed the most reasonable.

"Inepril City," I answered, desperately shutting out the memories that threatened. I paid the driver Milly's fare, and mine, and he seemed satisfied.

I took little comfort Milly's wide grin as we took our seats.

"Here we come, Inepril!" she chortled. I looked up. Her look of genuine excitement and anticipation should have been infectious. It _used_ to be.

"Gee, won't they be happy to see us, there, huh, Meryl?" I grimaced, but quickly rearranged the expression so as not to dampen Milly's spirits. I was quite certain that our friends in Inepril, who were rather _his_ friends, would only be half-heartedly pleased to see Milly and I. It was entirely possible that they wouldn't even recognize us. They'd be ecstatic if only we turned up with their hero—thinking the very name had me squirming—Vash the Stampede.

"Yeah," I mumbled. My voice was a dead giveaway that I cursed myself for. I hastily plastered a faux grin on my face and gazed up at my friend. "Of course they will," I lied to Milly, not the last of innumerable times. The smiles and the lies hurt, but the cruel truth would pain my friend even more so. My friend had sacrificed so much for me over the years. It was my turn now.

But a horrible, nagging spot on my mind wondered how long I could keep chivalry alive, how long I wanted to.

-

The bus ride was only just tolerable. I was tremendously uncomfortable, not because the ride was rough or bumpy—it was quite the opposite, in fact—but because I merely had too much time on my hands. And too much time inevitably means, for me, too much time to think. Oftentimes, I tried distracting myself. I opened and closed the window at regular intervals, but even the pleasant drafts prompted thoughts. I was made to remember the countless times I'd driven like this before, with Milly, Mister Wolfwood and _him_, the four of us a neat, if unconventional, little troupe.

Too many thoughts like these entered my mind, thus making the day-long journey a discomforting, let alone poignant, event. I had thorns in my mind.

The sky was darkening when we arrived at Inepril, a citrus orange sunset splashing final rays of peachy light across the building faces, shadows clinging to everything else. People lined the streets here and there. Much raucous laughter and shouting projected from the near-by saloons, meeting my ears with too much familiarity. I promptly caught myself before I my wandering mind managed to evoke the image of _him_, amusingly drunk, wearing an ugly, designer's-nightmare necktie he had managed to wrestle off some poor soul.

…Okay, maybe I hadn't caught myself.

My throat constricted.

"Meryl?" Milly spoke. Startled, I quickly shook my head back to reality. I glanced sheepishly up at Milly.

"Yeah, Milly?" I busied myself with stretching out my travel-wearied limbs.

"Well, Meryl," she said as she unloaded our luggage, "I was just thinking…" She paused, her expression loaded.

"What is it, Milly?" I asked, curious. "Is something the matter?"

"Oh, no!" she laughed and shook her head. "I was just wondering," she continued eagerly, "whether we could perhaps drop by one of the saloons to see our friends?" I immediately balked at the notion. Milly must have picked up on my discomfort, for she frowned.

"A saloon would be a great place to start collecting more rumours," she pointed out, obviously having misunderstood my hesitation. "And, after all, we've been traveling all day!" Milly restrained the groan in her voice but I knew she'd be rather disappointed if I refused her. Had she known my reason for desiring to avoid saloons, I was sure she wouldn't have pressed me. I didn't begrudge her for the misunderstanding, however.

"Well," I began, still apprehensive, but the fact being Milly had already won. "I suppose so." I put aside the sigh and grinned for my partner. "Why not?" I chuckled. The sound was heavy.

-

Milly and I found a hotel in record time. Usually we would board in a single room, but decided, since we had been traveling all day, a fact that Milly was quick to point out a second time, we would lodge in separate rooms. I gave up the farce of objecting. The cost didn't bother me, and I knew that later in the night I would want to be left to my own company, anyway. I'd developed, despite myself, an unhealthy brooding routine that seemed to fester at night. Milly and my tears in the same room was a hazardous combination, and one I could do without.

After depositing our luggage at the hotel, we proceeded to a saloon. We wasted absolutely no energy in finding one. It seemed a trademark to Gunsmoke that wherever a hotel rested, a bar wouldn't be far away and, if not, drunken laughter could easily guide you. In our case, we simply had to cross the street.

The atmosphere inside was much the same to every other bar I had entered in my life. Well, my Bernardelli life, anyway. A cloak of cigarette smoke hovered low from the ceiling, but not quite heavily enough to make anyone uncomfortable. The round wooden tables were chipped and weathered from use, the chairs little different. The tabletops themselves were messy at best, bottles, full and empty alike, playing cards, cigarette butts and the occasional peanut shell strewn over them in an predictably chaotic fashion. A surly looking old bar lady wiped glass after glass behind the grimy bar, surveying the room with wary eyes, ever the silent vigil.

The occupants themselves were many, each as drunken and indistinguishable as the next, most of them working class men and women. Loud as they were, it was surprisingly easy to ignore them. I realized that I had barely even noticed them upon my arrival. It occurred as odd that I should notice them less inside the actual saloon than when I was outside.

A few men looked up upon our entrance, but without anything more than detached interest. There was no recognition in their eyes. I was disappointed for Milly's benefit only.

"Meryl, Meryl!" Milly squealed beside me. "I see some of our friends! Let's go say hello, Meryl!" I didn't bother to see where she was pointing. She was positively jumping. I stared up at her ecstatic face and knew I wouldn't be able to even pretend to share her elation. I had to get away. I needed privacy from Milly. She might not have thought it, but I knew she didn't need my lingering melancholy, either.

"You go, Milly," I told her. She looked down at me, questioningly, her brows pleated.

"Don't you want to see them, too, Meryl?"

The muscles in my cheeks smarted from disuse as I gave her the widest grin I could manage. It was getting uncomfortable, having to hold my sighs tight in my chest all the time.

"Of course," I lied with a laugh that wasn't very convincing after having used it all day. "But… I think I'll get a drink, first."

Alcohol. It was the first time the idea had entered my head and I wondered why I hadn't thought about it before. The notion was strangely appealing.

"I'll just be at the bar," I said, nodding infinitesimally in response to internal questions, a reassurance mechanism. "I'll be right over, okay?"

Milly considered me a minute.

"Okay, Meryl," she chirped, and bounced her way toward our _friends_. I didn't watch to see their reaction, making myself scarce before Milly could point me out to them.

I made my way to the bar and quickly hid myself between two doubled-over, drunken masses of patrons. It felt strange sitting on a saloon stool again after having spent so much time in office chairs, staying as far as was possible on Gunsmoke to stay from a saloon. But it was stranger still how such a simple thing had me fighting back memories of why I used to spend _a lot_ of time in saloons. _Lord, Meryl_, I groused at myself. _You need a holiday_. _And fast_. My forehead fell into my palms as I leaned forward on the bench, finally at liberty to heave a whole day's worth of staved sighs. It was probably a good thing that, but my privacy didn't live long enough to see my eyes well.

"What'll ya have, sweetheart?" a husky female voice inquired somewhere above me just as I felt the sting of salt water around my eyelashes.

I started and glanced up. The barlady stood over me, the trademark tea towel in her hand, with a neutral, but curious expression.

"Um…" I paused. I cursed my knowledge, or lack thereof, of alcohol. Why did I always need things that I knew almost nothing about?

"Uh, b-bourbon?" I asked sheepishly, hoping to god I didn't sound like a complete idiot. She regarded me briefly then shuffled to the bottle-rack behind the bar.

"Here y'go," she said, slapping down a short glass in front of me and filling it half way with what I saw to be _Wild Turkey_.

"Thanks," I mumbled, surrendering some double-dollars. The barlady left to pursue other tasks and I was grateful for the solitude again.

I stared down into the amber liquor for a long time, gazing idly as it settled into a smooth meniscus. It took several minutes just to reach out and close my hand around the glass. It wasn't cold, but it wasn't hot, either; just dull, smooth and boring beneath my touch, but somehow important to that moment. I clutched the glass tight in my fingertips, and slowly brought it to my lips, taking the tiniest, cautious sip. The whiskey was unlike anything I'd ever tasted—silky and thick on my tongue, but also thin, thinner than water. It burned as it snaked down my throat and I found myself desperately muffling back a coughing fit.

After that, I didn't dare take another sip. I just used the liquid as a distraction, swirling the contents of the glass and waiting for them to settle, then repeating the motion. Swirl and watch—a pleasant and numbing routine. Swirl and watch. Swirl and watch. Sigh.

Swirl. How many weeks had it been? Watch.

Swirl and watch. How long could I keep this up? How many weeks would it take before I couldn't pretend any longer?

Swirl. Watch.

Why do I always do this? Watch. Why do I always inflict this purgatory on myself?

Watch. I have to do this. I have to do my job. I can't—…

Watch.

Watch.

What if…

Watch.

_Was he still alive?_

When she spoke, it was as if an age had passed, as though I'd risen above my own body to watch the world turn and swirl beneath me.

"Strong spirits for a small woman," drawled a female voice from behind me. It was only when she spoke that I realised her shadow had been hovering over me for some moments. It took me a moment or two to unlock my fingers from around the liquor glass, only then understanding how tightly I'd been grasping it, but eventually composed myself enough to turn around.

The face that met me was beautiful and cynical and triggered something at the back of my mind that I couldn't quite pinpoint—a vague familiarity. She was dressed lavishly, sporting a violet dress, that only barely made her cleavage decent, and lilac ribbons everywhere. A wide-brimmed, too large hat was perched on her head, beneath it a neat crop of brown hair that fell almost over her eyes. It was her eyes that I remembered, emerald green and obscure.

"You…I remember you," I said.

"Then I'm not the only one," she said with a lazy laugh. "I'm Elizabeth."

It all fell into place then.

"Oh!" I gasped. "You were the one who fixed this city's main plant!" I remembered her clearly now. Had it really been two years since… since then?

"I did my part," said Elizabeth. There was a momentary shift in her expression. "I'm afraid I don't remember your name."

"Meryl," I replied. "Meryl Strife."

"The insurance girl." She nodded to herself. "It's been a long time."

"It has," I agreed. Everything has been a long time. Too, too long.

Elizabeth sat herself down next to me.

"So," she began conversationally, brushing imaginary dust from her lap. "What brings you back to Inepril?" She signalled to the barlady for a drink.

"Work," I said mechanically.

"I see. Still tailing…him?"

Elizabeth had no idea how much I respected her right then. As much as I detested the question, she hadn't said that name.

"No, actually," I said quietly, eager to move on. I had a sudden thought. Maybe she could help. "Our new mission is to track the so-called 'Sand Pirate', now."

"Hawkeye?" Elizabeth gushed. Her eyes grew curiously narrowed then, as if she'd taken personal offense to something I'd said. She pursed her lips a moment then asked, "Where are you planning to search for him?"

"Er…" The realisation suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't even thought about it. It didn't take me long to figure out why. "Well, maybe North, if he's no where near here," I gave after a moment.

"North?" she repeated, taking a sip from the glass the barlady had brought. "I wouldn't go North if I were you."

"Oh? Why not?"

"Are you too busy or too lazy to read the papers?"

I flushed.

"The thing is," she went on, dabbing her lips with a handkerchief, "it's become very dangerous for anyone to travel too far North."

"Why?"

Elizabeth looked at me is if I was incontinent or something worse.

"Why?" she echoed, incredulous. "Because of the oceans and the plants and the Aqua Project."

Oceans? My mind processed the foreign word, my interest piquing tenfold. That was when I worried myself. Just how much time had I missed? How much had happened that I had ignored? I suddenly had the feeling of waking up after a dull dream.

Everything spilled out of my mouth at once.

"What do you mean 'oceans'? What's the Aqua Project? And what about… _plants?_" The word had a strange, unearthly tone.

Elizabeth simply looked at me.

"Tell me everything," I begged.

* * *

What's the time, Mister Lurker? It's review time, kids. :D 


	4. More than Water

Disclaimer: I own my feeble brain, my sketchy prose and life-giving hot chocolate, but, unfortunately, I do not own Trigun.

A/N: Wow, wow, wow. I thought I wasn't going to get to my usual chapter word limit with this chapter with what I wanted to cover, but it turned out that I barely got to cover much of what I wanted at all. I didn't know I had so much to write about Knives!

This was my first time at Knives POV, and I must say, I rather enjoyed it, yes I did. You'll have to tell me if I achieved his character or not, dear reader.

I probably say this a lot, but I want to try to update more regularly. I've sparked up my old gusto for this fic, methinks.

And now, I give you your narrator, _Knives_!

* * *

'Courage is the price that life extracts for granting peace.' – Amelia Earhart

* * *

**_Four: More than Water _**

Even now, agonizingly long hours after it had afflicted me, but a taste of what my sisters were feeling as I stood, it still echoed within me—a constant, unremitting hurt. My stomach writhed with it; the pain so strong, even belonging to another, I could feel it. It stung the very hairs on my skin. My pores were electric with it. Every fibre of my body pulsed with the torture, the drain, the _last run_.

My ankles shook threateningly as I turned to Vash. I envied him the strength he took for granted as he scrambled up the dune, weak, overcome, but still unaffected by the pain I knew now. I grew impatient, watching his feeble stumble and climb routine. How easy it was for him to stutter idly forward when our sisters were helpless and suffering at the very same moment. But as I watched, that curiously infuriating and simultaneously endearing realisation occurred to me again, as it often had during the times Vash and I had been together since the fall.

Vash was still a child. Over a century had passed since our birth and yet he was still the same naïve, idealistic, misguided creature he had been then. It was strange what knowledge of that fact did to me. Vash's ignorance of the pestilence, the evil, that was mankind was like a sin, a sin that had often had me comparing my brother to the filth he believed in; but at the same time, there was an innocence about Vash that fascinated me. It was a disconcerting combination, a stimulant for both hate and, while I barely understood why, a desire to protect. Essentially, Vash was a simple being, and had always been. There was very little I didn't know about my brother, I believed. And yet the complications he caused were… catastrophic. The things he managed to evoke; he was an enigma.

He scrambled up beside me with another of his irritating self-pitying sighs and held his chest gingerly. His eyes were cautious as his gaze ventured out from underneath his fringe and up at me—frightened.

I felt my mouth twitch into a smile. Vash shied away. Definitely frightened.

Vash's eyes suddenly had me vexed. As his gazed wavered to and away from mine, I watched them, studied them. I had a strange feeling there was some sort of answer in those aqua eyes of his, some sort of solution to whatever it was about him that eluded me. That word resurfaced in my mind again. Evoke. I wondered… What sort of reactions could I probe from Vash? Surely there was some way to make him help my cause. He was an asset, after all. Better to have him react to me rather than act against me.

My focus strayed down his right arm for a moment and then back up. I would have to experiment after—

"What is it?" Vash asked cautiously. I regarded his expression a moment. Too curious.

"Nothing." I turned to the edge of the dune and slid down. "Hurry up," I called after him. "We're already late."

"I don't understand," he griped as he hasted after me.

"You will." Vash would understand all too clearly, just as I understood now. Maybe the sight of her corpse would make him see.

-

As the beads of perspiration grew heavier on my skin, products of a sickness that wasn't mine but that I played witness to, I felt us drawing closer and closer to the ship. It was the source; where they were carrying out the very deed. My own home, no less. The very thought of it was nauseating. It was invasion.

No. It was more.

It was desecration.

And therein lay my reason for doing this, despite everything. Pain, the loss of my home, exposure, even Vash's reaction to it all, were consequences I could ignore in the face of stopping this 'Aqua Project'. It was a product of evil, the purpose of which was nothing but to cause pain to our brethren for the pleasure of a lesser species.

Pain. I thought about the word.

I glanced down at the gun-wounds in either of my thighs, and then at those on my upper arms. They'd barely plagued me at all the past several days, and even less so now the meaning of pain had been put into an entirely new perspective. Perhaps it might not have been that way if Vash had not cared for me the way he had after the fight. It still eluded me as to why Vash had been so charitable in the first place. He must have known I would never see his cause, if that had been his intention to make me do so. Whatever the case, it seemed like something I could easily put up to a naivety on his part. Vash never thought these things through. This was probably the reason Vash's actions had such massive repercussions.

It was no surprise to see Vash was still lagging several yarz behind when I peered over my shoulder. I watched as he traipsed along in my wake. He was almost doubled-over, holding his ribcage, occasionally pressing his palms gingerly to other injuries across his torso.

Unassuming.

I realised, and not for the first time, that it was this sort of façade that always had me letting my guard down around Vash. It was over-confidence that had lost me the battle in the oasis—a mistake I wouldn't let be repeated. The thought of it was excruciating, but I knew now that Vash was stronger than I. What was more, he had hidden the fact of his strength extraordinarily well over the decades.

Of course, there had always been the hints: July, Augusta, his ability to counter nearly everything sent his way.

Still he was weak, but I was beginning more and more to understand how little bodily wounds could affect him when he learned to resonate with the deeper power within him—a power that he sadly let lie dormant, while I welcomed it. I'd witnessed this power in him firsthand in July, and I cursed myself now for not having understood it then.

But, watching Vash drag himself pathetically across the sand, I knew it was a mistake I could come to forgive myself.

Yes, unassuming was the way to describe him.

Vash _looked_ weak, but I knew from experience he was not. My only worry was how much he knew of this strength.

Hopefully soon, I would be able to test his knowledge.

I turned my eyes skywards, searching. I quickly found my quarry. In the distance, a black spire broke the endless stretch of blue and gold. I smiled.

Soon now. Knowledge was at my fingertips.

I glanced over my shoulder once more, and it was a good thing I did. Vash was at his knees, his whole upper body quivering. I studied him a moment. It didn't seem like an act, but I had to be convinced.

Shutting my eyes was unnecessary, but it helped the process, helped me focus, as I delved into that space I had no name for, the place I could only describe as somewhere between mind and body. I might have lost myself in that place once, long ago, before I had learned to recognise separate entities and, in turn, separate myself from them. It was where they all resonated—my sisters. My brother, too, on a certain level. I could sense the others here, and they me.

There, the tremors of a violent, forced death still echoed, but I had to ignore the ghosts, couldn't allow myself the anger, while I searched for Vash. Very rarely had I found Vash's consciousness in this place. We were always present, as long as we lived, but I only ever found infinitesimal traces of him. I might not have found him at all, had he not been near enough to touch, our minds linked through physical closeness.

I stretched out for Vash, feeling for his mind with mine. Every mind I had touched had a distinct signature to it. There was no way to put into words how each signature felt, only that it was like each had its own texture. Vash's was peculiar, and different every time I came in contact with it, often like the feel of sand in my fingers, and then other times like smoke. He was there, this time the sensation of running water, but still distinctly Vash.

His mind revealed pain, along with hints of confusion, and under that the faintest echo of caution. The pain won out over everything else, so much so that his thoughts were barely coherent, mirroring his physical utters and groans.

'_Vash,'_ I thought to him. My presence in his thoughts caught him off guard.

'_Knives?'_ His 'voice' was tense.

'_Vash, we need to keep going.'_

'_I can't.'_

I opened my eyes, then. Still in sync with him, I approached my brother and knelt beside him.

"Get up," I told him, and echoed the command through his mind, also.

Vash inhaled once, shakily and deep, and shook his head.

"I can't," he huffed. "I'm exhausted, Knives."

I sighed.

"Here," I said, taking his right arm and pulling it around my neck. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled as my skin rubbed the flesh of his forearm. An idea suddenly formed itself.

'_Vash?'_ I probed his mind again.

There was a wordless response of curiosity.

'_I want you to try something,'_ I suggested.

Again, no words, just the feel of curiosity, and now caution.

'_Follow the trace of my mind,'_ I ordered. _'Follow where I go. Let yourself follow.'_

I sensed it as his mind assimilated cautiously with mine, waiting. I led, slowly enough for him to keep the trace, deeper into the ether of neither mind nor body. He wavered once as we descended and I detected a desire to go back. The weight of the 'place' fell upon him, and I caught it, also. He definitely needed to find his body again. I felt myself grabbing the flow of his mind in mine and taking a hold of him before he could find his way out.

'_This will help,'_ I soothed.

It wasn't hard to find her. She was very conscious, very aware of them as they moved about the ship, examining her and her sisters. She wanted them out—of the ship, of her presence. Her 'mind' was cold with fear and loss and confusion. She, like so many of the others, still did not understand why one of their own had suddenly vanished, died. They mourned her, the lost one, and feared which one of them might be next.

Vash was at my side as I linked consciousness with our sister. His mind was hesitant, struggling against the pull of the ether, but I held onto him as I conversed.

'_They're humans,'_ I told our sister.

She knew, but she did not understand.

'_They want to drain us. Don't worry. I'm coming. I won't let them.'_

I sensed her relief, and then a curiosity at Vash's presence.

'_Our brother. He is going to help, but I need you to help him, first. He's weak.'_

Her thoughts were thankful, her mind willingly eclipsing Vash's. Instantly, Vash stopped struggling, all conscious thought expelled by sense and instinct. He reveled in the feel of her healing him, and I simply waited.

The sight of sand dunes and sky returned. I heard Vash gasp and felt his dead weight on my neck as he lost his balance.

"Knives," he breathed as I tried to hold up him, hefting him more securely onto my shoulders. "What _was_ that?"

"Our sister," I said.

"But… what happened?" He seemed at a loss for words, but I knew the exact questions that were circling Vash's mind.

"I asked her to give you some strength," I said. "Come on, try to get up."

I helped him up some, but let him find his own feet. He tested the ground cautiously, and then looked up at me, incredulous, as he found himself standing on his own.

"I…" he murmured.

"How do you feel?"

"F-fine, I suppose."

I allowed myself a smile. My idea had served me well.

But there was no time to lose now. They were sure to start again, to test their limits. Another of our sisters would be sacrificed.

"Do you think you can run?" I asked Vash. He shook himself a little, testing his muscles, then nodded.

"Quickly, then."

And I ran.

"We haven't much time," I yelled over my shoulder, only to find Vash at my side, keeping pace.

-

The feel of metal under my feet after iles and iles of sand was inexplicable. For a split second I was home.

And then the situation came flooding back to me with the force of a heat-wave.

I looked up and absorbed the sight of the black exoskeleton of the ship I had inhabited not so very long ago. It was as I had left it, undisturbed in its ancient grandeur. There was nothing to suggest anyone occupied it now, but as I drew closer along the causeway toward the entrance, the tiniest of humming noises met my ears: a hair-raising keening sound of machinery operating somewhere below my feet. I shuddered convulsively.

"Knives?" Vash's voice was quiet and alarmed behind me. It echoed softly against the metal shafts and beams.

I turned to him, distracted. Vash hesitated at the very break between sand and steel, where the bridge began. His chest was still heaving from hours of running, perspiration thick on his brow. There was a pronounced fear in his eyes.

"Vash?"

"Knives," he whispered again. "What is this place?"

"This was my home," I said, turning back and starting forward.

"I've seen this."

When I turned on him again, he had not moved. His expression showed he was elsewhere, in the confines of a memory, a memory that terrified him. I approached cautiously.

"When have you seen this place, Vash?" I asked, interested to know his memories of my home, to which I had never taken him before.

His eyes drifted slowly to mine.

"In a dream," Vash breathed.

"What happened in the dream, brother?" I pressed him, very curious now.

His gaze wavered over me for moment, then flitted away, his eyes roaming feverishly over nothing and everything, reliving images I could not see. I watched, frustrated with not knowing. I pushed at the corners of his mind, gently at first but forceful when I felt him rejecting the advances.

"Please," Vash uttered, his voice written with panic. "Knives, please say we are not going in there."

"What?"

"Don't make me go in there," Vash pleaded.

I might have been sympathetic had I known what is was bothering him that he did not let me see. "We have to," I said.

Vash quailed.

"What are you going to do?" he demanded. "What are you planning to make me do?"

"Nothing." My response was instant, and somewhat true. There were only budding ideas. I had had no concrete plans in coming here regarding my brother, only that he see the 'Aqua Project'—this atrocity born from the minds of his beloved humans, the experiment operating below our very feet. I would show it Vash, make him understand, and then I would erase its evil, but he would not take any part. Not while I could not predict or control what might happen.

Not yet.

Vash looked at me with deep scrutiny.

"_Nothing_," I repeated.

He remained silent, and his face betrayed no belief.

"Come on," I beckoned, and waited. Vash made no move to follow, and I had to remind myself fiercely to be patient with him.

"Vash," I hissed.

He glared, but finally made hesitantly forward. I led on.

As we moved across the bridge in silence, the humming emanating below pressed on my ears, broken only by the slight echoing of our footsteps. It assaulted, penetrated the very fibres of my being, pulsing through the pores on my skin with a torture of its own, and my hatred boiled with each piercing octave. I wondered if Vash could feel it. It grew louder with each step closer.

And then I heard something more. A softer, yet ultimately more oppressive, more constant noise reverberated against the walls of the deep chasm below—the sound of flooding.

I made to the edge of the bridge, leaning heavily over the rails and saw the product of every pain I had known up until now that was not mine.

Water issued from an external pipe near the ship's base at a phenomenal rate. It had already filled the bottom of the canyon and was steadily rising with each new gush. Even at this distance I could see it was tainted a pale, ghostly red.

This was all that remained of her. She had bled for them, these creatures that cared nothing for her, and I'd felt it.

I felt it still.

And now I saw myself down there in that pale, rosy liquid, and I saw Vash, both of us a part of the plans of humans. It was clear. We too, against our birth-given free will, would in the end be no different than our caged brethren: numbers, simply numbers in the name of an _experiment_, our very life bled out of us, our bodies turned to nothing but water. We would not be remembered, or given any thought to. We were but drops in an ocean.

I looked up and Vash was at my side.

"What do you see?" I asked him.

"It's…" he murmured. "It's water."

"No!" I retorted. Vash looked up at me, alarmed.

'_Why do you not see?_'

Vash's eyes grew wide.

"That, brother," I heard myself snarl, "is us."

"What?"

"Down there, that blood is all they'll leave of us." I felt my chest heaving.

"Knives, what are you saying?"

"And then they'll drink us, Vash!"

A tingling, prickling electricity, power, suddenly snaked up my spine and along my arms.

"Knives, stop!"

I heard my brother's words, but his voice, and any emotion it carried, escaped me. I couldn't see him beyond a body, and I knew I was slipping.

_Yes_.

I let it take me, let myself become it.

"They'll drink us, Vash! As though we are water!" And then I was laughing, laughing at the ease of the change. "DRINK US!"

"KNIVES, _NO_!"

I was running, taking their reward to them, Vash in my wake, screaming things I didn't care to understand. I looked down at my arm and smiled. The blades throbbed and ached as they rose, cleaving out of my skin, itching and hungry for use. Losing myself with them was easier than I'd ever imagined, and then sensation of it was pure ecstasy.

Perhaps I was water to humans, but against me they were nothing.

They would _drown_.

* * *

Well, hey, guys, how was that? I bet anyone following this fic is getting pretty sick of me leaving cliffhangers everywhere. XD Want quicker updates? Review. -innocent nudge- Hehe. A little crit would be nice for this chapter, also, if possible. I want to know how I did with my first piece of Knives POV. Thanks for reading! Until next time. 


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